The Sixth of October
by Ista of the Dreamers
Summary: Chapter 2 is up now! Warning: *SPOILERS* While Frodo faces the aftermath of the War of the Ring, he meets a mysterious hobbitess who's life is strangely parallel to his own.
1. One Day

Title: The Sixth of October  
Chapter 1: One Day  
Author: Ista of the Dreamers  
Rating: G-PG . . . I guess  
Warning: **SPOILERS** Do not read this story unless you have read the complete trilogy of the Lord of the Rings or if you have not read the Return of the King as there are many spoilers as to how that book ends. Thank you!  
Disclaimer: I do not own Frodo, Sam, Rosie, Elanor or any of the other characters and places J.R.R. Tolkien created in the Lord of the Rings.....darn. But the character of Freeda Boffin and her house of Boff-Home is mine.  
Stuff: This first chapter is the prologue to the story, but oh well... Those of you who have read my other LOTR fic, I' Mal Lasse, will enjoy this, and you might even like it better! :) Reviews/ feedback/ comments are always welcome! Thank you so much for reading this!!!  
  
The Sixth of October   
  
  
It was very early in the morning on the sixth of October at Bag-End when Frodo Baggins took up a pen and began to write.  
  
_My thoughts today are dark, more so than I'd like them to be on this beautiful morning in this cheerful house. As I sit, the pain in my shoulder grows and the world turns dark. I sit in this house where I am loved with brooding thoughts, contemplating my fate and yet,, I look out of my window to see that the day is fresh and new. My eyes focus on the sun shining through the trees on such a warm autumn morning, and there, in the garden, Sam and his daughter, little Elanor, are playing. Her sweet young face peeking in and out of the pumpkin patch brings an aching to my heart. As the golden-red leaves fall to speckle the green grass, I see the world in a different light. My friends are becoming more and more distant to me, even Sam, though his family lives in my house. They are changing. I write this, and Elanor's ringing laugh brings me to the present. Maybe I am the one who is changing. And I still wonder. Am I really happy here?  
  
_  
  
The opening of his door and a warm voice made the hobbit turn around with a surprised jerk. It was Sam's wife, Rosie Cotton, apron tied across her waist as usual, carrying a tray with some cups, saucers, and a kettle. A youthful smile flashed across her face after she had spoken.   
  
Trust Rosie to brighten the darkest of my own shadows, thought Frodo with a quick grin.  
  
Ah, I see you're writin'. I didn't mean to disturb you, Mr. Baggins-  
  
No, it's quite all right, Frodo said with a wave of his hand. It was nothing important.  
  
Her words softened with her eyes. I assumed that you were out on this fine morning with Sam and Elanor. It's a perfect dawn for some breakfast outdoors. What would you like on your pancakes?  
  
Frodo said. That's all right, Rosie. Maybe later.  
  
Her hands reached down to her apron to clean one of the cups on the tray she carried. She polished it until she was satisfied, and smiled knowingly. Then would you care to join me in the kitchen for some tea?  
  
He caught the glint in her eyes, smiled, and set down his pen. No one can resist your tea and cookies, Rosie.  
  
She laughed then, and they sat down to talk for a while. It was comforting to Frodo to be reminded of just how many friends he had in the Shire, people that cared about him and that whenever he was feeling sad, he could always remember those people who had helped him get through the hardest of times. He did not know that there could be anyone kinder and gentler than Sam before he met her.  
  
After tea, Frodo set down his cup in satisfaction. Delicious, Rosie! As usual, you have made cookies sweeter than sunlight itself.  
  
His compliment made her laugh heartily again. I only bake to hear your fine praise, Mr. Baggins. You know that!   
  
Another tempting aroma could be smelled when she pulled some sort of delicacy from her wood oven.  
  
Heavens, what is that? he asked her.  
  
An apple tart for Sam and Elanor. Goodness, they must be hungry! They've been playing outside for more than an hour.  
  
Frodo chuckled again, but his laughter died away when Rosie produced a long silver knife from one of the cupboards and began to use it to slice the tart into four equal pieces. Frodo's fist clenched, then relaxed, clenched again. He tried with all his might to take his eyes away from the silver of the knife, but he could not. It seemed to grow larger in his sight, and more dangerous. It was no longer a knife. It was a sword-a sword meant for him-meant for his death.   
  
His hand automatically slipped to his shoulder, now frozen with an icy darkness. The cold washed over him. It was something he had felt on that day every year since it happened. Frodo did not even have the courage to speak, and he tried to get Rosie's attention, but her eyes were firmly fixed on the tart she was slicing, so cruelly oblivious to his pain. The fear was in him. It grew, the wave of coldness rising higher until it enveloped him so completely that he gasped and had to clutch the table's edge to keep from shaking.  
  
At last Rosie saw him, went to him, and asked if he was all right, but he had no breath to answer her. Her face went white and she rushed out of the house, calling her husband's name.  
  
Desperately, Frodo used all his strength to stand on his feet and stagger into his bedroom. Inside him, a panic began to grow. It was the strongest feeling that grew deep inside him. He had to get away. He had to leave. He had to leave Hobbiton, if only for a while. He had to get away. Now. Now.  
  
Quickly, almost feverishly, he began packing, throwing clothes together in a bundle, taking ink, pens, and paper. The scar on his left shoulder seemed to be on fire like ice, burning cold and deep within him, so that he struggled to hold onto the reality of his room and his bundle. He heard frantic shouts in the kitchen, then his door burst open and Sam stood breathlessly before him, with Elanor clinging to his legs.  
  
Frodo, are you all right?  
  
Rosie came up behind him, biting her nails with worry. You look so ill, Mr. Baggins. Whatever is wrong?  
  
Frodo had no time to chat with them(couldn't they see that?) but continued packing painfully, muttering, It's my scar. It's my scar.  
  
The scar . . .  
  
After a moment of silence, Frodo sighed, eyes blinking back tears and sank to the ground, clutching his bundle and his shoulder as he had before.   
  
Sam gently pried Elanor off himself and knelt down to his friend. If it is hurting you, Frodo, then we must do something about it.  
  
Frodo shook his head, clearing it and suddenly feeling very much alone. No, no it's no use.  
  
I could try and find Gandalf, or I'll get Merry and Pippin and we can go back to Rivendell-  
  
No, no . . .  
  
Or we could look for a cure, or-  
  
There is no cure, Sam!   
  
Elanor squealed then and raced to hide behind Rosie's apron. Frodo stopped, frozen with regret at his own words, then he took his bundle and looked deep into Sam's shocked, hurt eyes.  
  
I must go away for a while. Not forever, just today, until the pain of my burden wears off. Being in this house makes it worse. Just for one day, Sam.  
  
He was about to think that Sam was too shocked, or angry, or sad to reply when Samwise Gamgee spoke, and suddenly, Frodo felt that he was back with the Fellowship, or in Mordor with . . . And he was hurt, or hungry, and there was no hope left in the world, but Sam was there, and he was there for him.   
  
I understand, Mr. Frodo. I understand . . . His words were soft, choked, and Sam quietly stood up, walked by Rosie and patted Elanor's curly golden head. He stood in the doorway, and turned around. I've always understood you, Mr. Frodo, and I've always understood your pain, but I've never felt it . . . Sometimes I wish I could feel it.  
  
Then he left.  
  
Rosie packed Frodo many sackfuls of food and ten of her famous sugar cookies, as well as a quarter of the apple tart he had not eaten at tea. Sam had left with Elanor after they ate breakfast to visit the Gaffer for the day without another word to Frodo, but he didn't have to. Frodo knew the hurt he had caused, but he also knew that as soon as he came back, the hurt would be mended. He felt stronger now that he had decided he was leaving, and it took the shivers from his body. As soon as Rosie had packed the rest of the food and he had dressed in his warmest traveling attire, as well as his favorite green cloak, he opened the door and said goodbye.  
  
Tell Sam goodbye for me, said Frodo. And tell him that I will come back. I promise.  
  
Rosie nodded, but the gesture seemed to take a lot of effort. Her eyes were tearing. You mean a lot to Sam, Mr. Baggins.  
  
The thought made him suddenly swallow. I know.  
  
You mean a lot to all of us, she said.  
  
Frodo took a deep breath, the said, As do all of you to me. And with a flurry of his cloak, he was gone and Rosie drew a handkerchief to her eyes.  
  
*End of Chapter 1*  
  
I should have the next chapter up within a couple of days! Thanks for reading this!  
  
-Ista


	2. Scars

Title: The Sixth of October  
Chapter 2: Scars  
Author: Ista of the Dreamers  
Rating: G-PG . . . I guess  
Warning: **SPOILERS** Do not read this story unless you have read the complete trilogy of the Lord of the Rings or if you have not read the Return of the King as there are many spoilers as to how that book ends. Thank you!  
Disclaimer: I do not own Frodo, Sam, Rosie, Elanor or any of the other characters and places J.R.R. Tolkien created in the Lord of the Rings.....darn. But the character of Freeda Boffin and her house of Boff-Home is mine.  
Stuff: To answer some questions I have received concerning exactly when this fic takes place. In my mind, it is before Frodo originally went to the havens. In the book(if I am not mistaken) a year before he goes, he is still living with Sam and Rosie, and he did feel the pains on that day from when he was stabbed. I hope that clears up questions anyone has had. GREAT thanks for the people who have reviewed, and the usual: Reviews/ feedback/ comments are always welcome! Thank you so much for reading this!!!  
  
The Sixth of October   
  
The scar did not trouble Frodo for long out in the wild because the trees' perfume soothed him and the chill air warmed his heart surprisingly enough in the early morning. He felt at peace in the wild with the trees, grass, bushes, and air. The sound of animals. It was quiet, though, just as Frodo liked it.  
  
He walked for an hour, then once he was deep enough in the woods, a calm came over him and he decided to rest. He chose a shady oak to sit under, took out his pen and paper. His ink was thick and black as the most terrible of nightmares, but the words he wrote from the nightmares colored the paper with sentences of blissful dreams.  
  
_Finally, I am here, in the wild, in nature where I feel safe once again. Here I am on the road that started it all, the adventure, the Fellowship, and casting the object which I was bound to in great flame. It makes me anger with those thoughts, because the object I speak of that hung around my neck, was evil. It was completely evil. The dull ache in my shoulder, the pain that has just subsided but will never fully leave me came from evil, and I desperately need peace from that. I need long rest from what has happened. But no one understands just how deeply it affected me, and I wish they could understand. I wish someone could understand. Someone . . .   
  
_Frodo stopped, sighed, and put down the pen with the intent of moving on, but then he stopped again. Was he losing his hearing and his sanity, or was that a voice he heard just then; a low sounding moan. He shook his head hastily and packed his things together, ready to move on when he heard it again. The sound was upon him, tormenting him, the moaning growing louder and longer, then breaking away. Now it was a scream.  
  
  
  
Frodo froze, suddenly surprised from the cry. A lady's cry! She was screaming.  
  
Don't hurt me anymore!  
  
Frodo gasped, and clutched his shoulder. The pain had started again, without warning, but he gritted his teeth to investigate the cry. He did not answer her plea for fear that others were with her, and that by revealing his presence, his life would become in danger as well. He waited in tense fear until her sobs continued.  
  
You can't have it! Let me go free! The sound was coming from the right side of the road, so Frodo swallowed his pain and dove into the thick brush and branches, sloping into a ditch.  
  
Someone, help! They're all around me!!  
  
Her screams were agonizing to listen to, on the verge of hysterical, but Frodo had to use them to locate her, and he was getting closer. Panting now, he kept running; branches as he ran by stung his eyes.  
  
Then her cries stopped.  
  
Frodo stood, quaking, and rubbing his shoulder to keep it warm. It was not so cold that he was shivering, but just enough that his breath misted in the air. He forced himself to keep quiet, but in panic, he kept running.  
  
Please let her be alive.  
  
It was a strange thing, Frodo thought, just how much he wanted her to be alive. Someone he didn't even know. He couldn't think of any reason why he suddenly felt so scared, as if he had just lost someone very dear to him. Or maybe it was just her cries that chilled his heart. That fear. Her fear. It was his fear as well.  
  
And then he found her.  
  
Her body was lying on the ground a few feet away. Thick ropes tied her wrists together, along with her legs and feet. A blindfold covered her eyes, but a gag around her neck suggested that she had managed to pull or chew it away. Her curly and long dark brown hair was tied with a white ribbon. He couldn't believe what he saw. The now motionless figure had been a hobbit.  
  
His breath came heavily in and out, swallowing his emotion. He had come too late.  
  
But a cough, then a moan, and she was stirring, her arms and legs trying to twist out of the ropes.  
  
Frodo breathed a sigh of relief and rushed up to her. It's all-  
  
Get away! she shrieked, and pushed away from him, but he gently held her still.  
  
I'm not going to hurt you, he said softly, though she still resisted. I'm going to untie you.  
  
He started to take off her blindfold, but she lashed out with her tied hands before he had the chance. Don't touch me! You can't have it!  
  
I didn't attack you! Frodo said, louder this time, and dodging her blows. And I'm not going to attack you! Please keep still and let me help!  
  
She was then quiet, and her arms dropped to her sides, whether of exhaustion or final reason, Frodo could not tell, but she remained quiet then, and still. She began sobbing softly, and continued crying when Frodo examined the ropes that bound her wrists. It was of particularly strong material, a rope that required a knife of some sort, and with a sigh, Frodo cursed himself for not bringing his sword, Sting along. If only he had some sort of knife or metal to cut her free . . .  
  
A bright flash caught his attention then, and Frodo's head turned slowly towards the glint, reflecting the pale sunlight. Could it be? Could it really be?   
  
It was a sword.  
  
And as he came closer, he realized it wasn't just any sword, but HIS sword! Sting!  
  
What is it doing here? he murmured to himself. I left it back at Bag-End. It shouldn't be here . . .  
  
Though there it was, markings certain and true to his own sword, the sword he had carried into Mordor.  
  
So Frodo went to work, first cutting the rope that bound her feet, then her legs. It was easy material to cut with Sting in his hands. The sword cut through the ropes easily, slicing like bread.  
  
The hobbitess stopped crying when he began to free her and began whispering quietly, You can't have it.  
  
Frodo sighed and tried to ignore her for the most part. He wanted so much to think that the reason she was acting so strangely was that she was in shock, but the more she said led him to further uncertainty. Finally, he could take no more of her venomous words.  
  
What is it that I can't have?  
  
You can't have it! she hissed again.  
  
It seemed there was nothing he could do after all. Then he was finished cutting the ropes from her wrists which were raw and bleeding, and he sat down on the ground, laying the sword beside him. What could he do? The pain in his shoulder had faded to a dull ache like before, and he was tired; tired of the girl and of life.  
  
Do you have a name? he asked her eventually.  
  
She lay quietly.  
  
he said. I don't know who you are or what happened to you, and I'm sorry! But you can't keep going on like this. I need to move on, and you need help . . . maybe help that I can't provide.  
  
Still, she remained motionless. Frustrated, Frodo leaned forward to take the cloth from her eyes, and that's when she pounced. Her arms forced him close to her face, Frodo too shocked to resist. In a second, she ripped off her blindfold, and her blue eyes flashed.  
  
You can't have the ring!   
  
Frodo gasped as a surge of new pain went through his shoulder and echoed in his limbs. She spun around before he could even touch her, and kicked him hard in the chest. Frodo cried out as he fell backwards. Faster than his eye could track, she picked up the sword beside him, was on her feet, and pointed it at his left shoulder. Frodo wanted to cry out, even scream at the new fear pounding his heart so greatly that he couldn't breathe, but it was impossible. The world dimmed, the sunlight faded, and the hobbit lady's then twisted face changed.  
  
Her eyes cleared, she blinked, and she drew a hand to her head as if awakening from a long and deep dream. She stared with shock and horror at what she was doing, and quickly sheathed the sword. Frodo had not noticed the scabbard at her side until now, but he had no strength to express his relief anyway.  
  
What have I done . . . Her voice was completely different, soft, and beautiful almost, the opposite of what it had been.  
  
Frodo gasped for air, tried to roll over, but he could not. The world around him spun in shades of an agony beyond expression.  
  
Oh no! she cried, and knelt down to him. What is wrong with you?   
  
Frodo shook his head feebly, and tried to speak, but it was useless. The shadows of the forest seemed to seep closer to where he lay. Soon, he would be one of them, a shadow, and he would fade.  
  
Please tell me what is wrong! Her voice echoed in his dreams, her face illuminated, and her hand reached out.  
  
She touched him. Her hand held his for a few brief moments, and those moments could have lasted a lifetime. Pure light ran down his arm, up his shoulder, and through his blood. Where the light touched, the shadow shrank away, and soon the pain was gone, just the dull ache in place of the great pain he had just felt.   
  
Her face, kind and soothing suddenly came into focus, and the world returned to normal, sunlight streaming through the trees. She was gasping in surprise, caught up in the same energy he had felt, Frodo guessed.  
  
Oh my, she said breathlessly, and smiled. She squeezed his hand and pulled him up gently. What was that?  
  
I'm not sure. Frodo was amazed to find his own voice back where he had left it, breathless as well, but strong. Whatever it was . . .  
  
Both of them still panting for air, Frodo suddenly found an outstretched hand before him.  
  
Well, my name is Freeda Boffin, she said quickly, and then, Care for some lunch?  
  
*End of Chapter 2*  
  
I should have the next chapter up within a few days! Thanks for reading!  
  
-Ista  
  
  



End file.
